


Cold Spots

by psychomachia



Category: Original Work
Genre: Dreams and Nightmares, Forced to watch other character's trauma, Gen, Haunted Houses, Hurt character comforts the one who caused the hurt, Implied/Referenced Torture, Psychological Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2020-03-01 10:58:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18798982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/psychomachia/pseuds/psychomachia
Summary: Ghosts aren't real, but hauntings are.





	Cold Spots

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lostboywriting](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lostboywriting/gifts).



It was thirty minutes before the blizzard when Adam pulled up in the driveway of 2409 Lincoln Drive. The weather report had told him he'd probably be cutting it close, but he had been hoping to have a little more time than this. Snow was already coming down in flurries, the howling of wind outside his car a warning sign, and he had never been more grateful for the automatic garage door opener the realtor had left for him, along with the keyring and a hastily scribbled note.

_Adam,_

_I left you the front and back door keys. Gas, water, and electricity should be on, but you'll have to arrange for phone and internet. Tenant left some furniture, so it won't be completely bare, but you probably have your own things you'll want to replace them with. There's a fireplace, but don't use it until someone's taken a look at it._

_I'd love for you to meet your neighbors, but Mrs. Greeley is back in Arizona where she spends her winters and the Thompsons took their kids to Canada for winter break. Still, if you need anything, don't hesitate to give me a call._

_Once again, I'm so glad you felt a connection to this house. It's such a nice neighborhood and this house has gone ~~unloved~~ unlived in for too long. I'm sure you'll be able to fix it up in no time._

_Thank you,_

_Nancy_

As the garage opened, a thought crossed his mind, one that would not leave. The door would open all the way and there would be someone standing there, waiting for him. The thought persisted even as he could see he was wrong. The garage was empty, except for a weak light illuminating some cardboard boxes and a coil of garden hose.

Adam shook his head and parked inside. He'd have time to let Nancy know that the tenant had left more than just a mattress and some beat-up couch. But for now, he had to get inside. Even if his stuff wouldn't be there for a few days, he'd already committed to sheltering inside his new house, riding out the storm.

But he did take a moment, just a few seconds, to look out the outside of the house being blanketed in snow. It was as nondescript as the pictures showed – a dull brown paint that made it blend into the rest of the trees. The large front windows could have been impressive, if there weren't dingy, beige curtains covering them, preventing a view inside. Really, the only thing that stood out was the front door – a bright red that seemed out of place with the aggressive blandness of the place.

He grabbed his bags – some clothes, some groceries, and a few personal things – before running to the front door, ducking against the wind. He fumbled with the key before he was able to turn it into the lock. It stuck for a few seconds, probably because of disuse, and he had to brace his shoulder against the door to get it to open. Finally, reluctantly, it did.

Inside, darkness. There was a light switch on the wall next to him and he flipped it on.

“Note to self,” he said. “Change the light bulbs.” Nancy may have been right about working electricity but the flickering dim ceiling light didn't help much. From what he could see of the living room, there were beige walls, unevenly colored, and a similarly beige carpet.

Adam moved further a few steps, and took off his shoes in the entryway, crusted in snow and dirt. He took one step onto the carpet.

The door slammed shut behind him.

At least the wind wasn't coming in anymore, but it wasn't much warmer inside.

“Furnace in the basement,” he murmured. “Let's see if she's also right about the gas.”

As he reached the hallway on the right, there was a thermostat above what appeared to be an empty bookshelf, burnt at the edges and empty of anything but a few bits of ash. Adam turned the dial, which was turned off. He'd know soon enough.

In the meantime, he'd save his exploring for the daytime. For now, he'd have to check in. His cell phone was dead, the battery long drained by roaming cell phone calls and constant checking of various reports. He plugged the charger into the wall, deciding to leave it off for the night.

Adam sat down on the carpet, taking out his laptop and plugging it into the other outlet. Maybe if he was lucky, he'd get...

“Well, shit,” he said a few minutes later as the network status popped up to inform him that yes, there was a very strong unsecured wireless network available to connect to. “I guess this really is a nice neighborhood.”

He booted up the program, logged in, and waited for the connection.

 

> Theo?
> 
> …..
> 
> Theo?
> 
> …..
> 
> Come on.
> 
> You're an idiot.
> 
> Cool. Just letting you know I made it.
> 
> Yeah. Still an idiot. Can't believe you bought a house.
> 
> Why??? I'm responsible.
> 
> No you're not. You have no money and no way to afford this shit and you're the type of idiot who moves during a fucking snowstorm.
> 
> I have money.
> 
> Really?
> 
> Yeah. My grandma left it to me so I could use it wisely. And I am totally using it wisely.
> 
> Oh, of course. That makes perfect fucking sense. Give money to the asshole who doesn't even tell anyone he's moving to Montana in December until three days before he leaves.
> 
> Hey, it was four days.
> 
> Whatever. How does the house look?
> 
> It needs some work, but it's got promise. The basic structure looks solid. Not sure until I see it more in the light.
> 
> Well, let me know if there's problems. You're dumb enough to think you can handle everything on your own.
> 
> I think I can do my own home inspection.
> 
> No you can't. Like I said. Idiot. I'll tell your mom you're fine.
> 
> Thanks.
> 
> Just don't freeze to death.
> 
> No promises.
> 
> Not funny.

Adam smiled and logged out. He shut the laptop down, but left it plugged into the wall to charge. It might have been him adjusting to the cold, but he thought the house felt a little bit warmer.

He'd already eaten on the road, he could feel himself yawning, and clearly Theo was done for the day, so he figured it was as good a time as any to try to find a bedroom.

The living room was connected to an obvious kitchen area, the tile cracked and peeling. The sink and stove looked intact, and surprise of surprises, there was still a fridge. An old mustard colored monstrosity that smelled like onions when he opened it, but it was cool inside and the freezer didn't have an ice shelf built up, so he called it a win.

To the left of the kitchen was some blue carpet and an old wooden dining table, massive and scarred. No chairs, but hey, you can't have everything. And there was the back door, a closet next to it that had nothing but an old gray wool coat and a pair of boots. When he peered out the back window, the lawn was already carpeted in snow, and the light wouldn't turn on for him to see further.

Back in the living room, he went down the hallway he had glimpsed. Another closet, a door that led to an empty white room, and further down, a bathroom. He tested the sink, and after a few seconds, he could hear pipes rattling as water made their way through them. But the water that came out was clear, not brown or rusty, and he was once again surprised.

At the very end of the hall, he got lucky. While the door on the right led to another small empty room, the one on the left had a large bed on it, covered in a red blanket. The windows in it overlooked the backyard but he still couldn't see anything, the snow now coming so swiftly that it was a sheet of white.

Adam checked his watch. Nine. Earlier than he'd normally go to sleep, but he was feeling so tired, exhaustion draining him more and more. It didn't seem like he had done much, but he couldn't keep his eyes open. He stumbled towards the bed, not even bothering to change. He should get up. It wasn't good to just...

He could do it in the morning.

He could...

_Everything at first is warm, comforting darkness. It's like you're aware but not really. You can feel things moving around you, breaths and beats and steps of life. You know that there is something there you're taking care of, but it's taking care of you too. Sometimes there are little bits of pain, but it's not bad and you don't really feel it. You don't really feel anything._

_It goes on for a long time, this half-realized consciousness. It could go on forever._

_But one day, it doesn't. You feel something tugging at you. It's not like the others. It wants you to wake up. It wants you to be aware. It talks to you and tells you that you need to be awake. You're already so special. There aren't that many like you and most of them are already spoiled, taken and used by people who don't even know what they're doing. But I know what I'm doing, it says. It's going to be so beautiful._

_You're going to be beautiful._

_And so you start to wake up. You let the darkness fade. You let yourself recognize things, let it teach you about words for things. Like promises – what it owes to you and what you owe to it. Like bonds – things that tie you together forever._

_Like love – everything you are and could be._

_And then one day, it tells you that you're ready. You're perfect._

_Well, almost._

_And then it stabs something sharp into your skin and lets it slide all the way down. It laughs when you cry, the water coming out in a flood that won't stop, and you don't know whether it's tears or blood because you're not like the other, that can dance around like this, jabbing here and there to make you hurt._

_Too bad I'm not a plumber, it says. But I don't mind being a little wet. And it cuts another line down and begins to rip things out from you._

_Why, you say to it. Why._

_Because it's boring, it says. You're boring. And this is supposed to be fun. Come on. Don't you want me to be happy?_

_Happy. You don't even really know what that means._

_But you know what pain is._

_It's teaching you that everyday._

Adam woke up, his head pounding so fiercely he almost doubled over. The dream lingered at the edges, but just thinking about it made him shake and brought tears to the corner of his eyes. He's had stress headaches before, lightning bolts that ran through his brain, leaving sharp heat behind, but this. This was the worst.

After all, it was so bad he didn't even notice the scratches on his arms, his legs, long thin red lines that bled onto the sheets, as if someone dragged a nail through all four of his limbs very deliberately. They're not deep, he thought, but it didn't matter and he tried not to shake even further.

There could be a rational explanation for this. He could have sleepwalked, tripping and stumbling through the house scratching himself on loose boards. Or maybe an animal was in the house, a raccoon or a possum or even a cat, trapped and angry that scratched him in an attempt to get out.

“Get out,” Adam said, and closed his eyes, willing the pain to subside.

It didn't work.

Neither did the shower, a mercifully hot one that helped with the chill that still lingered in the house. The water still ran clear, though it vaguely tasted coppery when some fell upon his tongue. He'd probably have to get the pipes checked just to be sure.

Now dressed in clean clothes with his headache a manageable dull throb, he checked the windows. The snow was still coming down fast, and when he tried to open the front door, the wind must have been fierce because it wouldn't even budge an inch.

“All right,” Adam said. “Guess it's another snow day for me.”

Time to get exploring, then.

In the daylight, there wasn't much new on the main floor, though the disappearance of his cell phone was an unwelcome discovery. His laptop was still plugged in, though, so maybe it was some sort of raccoon in the house.

A cell-phone stealing, viciously angry, possibly invisible raccoon.

“The most obvious explanation is the best one,” he said, and left it at that, not wanting to think about what that might actually be.

The door to the basement was opposite to the back door, and this time, he opened it. The light was also dim, leading down the long flight of stairs, the last few barely visible.

He'd had the feeling before when he knew someone was watching him, a prickle on the back of the neck that told you eyes were upon you, but it was never so overwhelming as when he walked down the stairs. Each step made him want to run even faster to get out of its sight, but he forced himself to take each one slowly.

After all...

The basement was mostly unfinished, a washer and dryer tucked into a corner, as equally old as the fridge upstairs. There was an ugly, waterstained brown couch, more cardboard boxes taped up in a corner, and a ping-pong table of all things. He slid a finger along it, disturbing the heavy coat of dust on it.

To his left he discovered another bathroom, far more in line with what he had been expecting in terms of disturbing amounts of stains and grime. Across from it, he pushed open a fairly heavy door to reveal some room that must have been used as a storeroom. There were a bunch of empty shelves, a toolbench with a few rusty tools, and a locked freezer.

Adam had the feeling he probably didn't want to know whatever might have been left in it, considering it was unplugged and smelled like something had died in it.

Last, there was another white room, empty as the others, but with some sort of fire escape type window. The snow was packed up in the window well, but he could make something out pressed against the glass.

“Huh,” he said, recognizing the familiar faded golden brown and black lettering of an Oujia board. “That's not ominous at all.”

But back to more pressing matters. The furnace radiated warmth, so clearly it was working, even if it was barely keeping the house above a glacial freeze. The pipes were still rattling, and none of the doors stayed open, so it was clear he'd have to do a number of repairs (or pay someone, even if his father would have killed him to know that he wasn't fixing shit on his own).

Well, that would be another day.

For now, he wanted to get back up to the main floor, to its relative warmth and sunlight and less nagging feeling of being constantly watched.

He walked back up the stairs, still conscious of the gaze on his back.

The rest of the day passed fairly uneventfully. He ate a cold lunch, made an ultimately unsuccessful attempt to search for his phone, and watched the snow outside for a bit. He felt lazy, energy sapped from him as if there was nothing he needed to do. Nothing at all. Just let yourself drift. Close your eyes. It's not that cold in here.

He pulled the blanket off the bed and wrapped himself in it, turning the dial up as much as he could. It didn't make a difference.

 

> Hey.
> 
> …
> 
> Theo?
> 
> …
> 
> Come on.
> 
> I'm here.
> 
> Good. Do you still think I'm an idiot?
> 
> Yeah.
> 
> I'm sorry that I didn't tell you I was going to do this. But I didn't want you to talk me out of it.
> 
> I should have.
> 
> Yeah, probably. But I wouldn't have listened.
> 
> Are you all right?
> 
> Nothing a few tylenols and maybe a tetanus or rabies shot won't cure.
> 
> Are you fucking serious?
> 
> If I say no, will you not tell my mom?
> 
> No, you asshole. That's what you get. I'm this close to just saying fuck it and driving out into the middle of buttfuck nowhere to pick up your ass.
> 
> Don't. It's okay.
> 
> You. Just fuck you.
> 
> Yeah, yeah.
> 
> And keep in touch.
> 
> I promise.

The lights were dimmer now. Maybe the light bulb was dying. He should really do something about that.

Adam could see his breath in the house now, a white cloud that puffed out of his mouth, hanging in the air for a second or two. He was half tempted to just say fuck it and risk possible suffocation by lighting a fire. But he was just so tired...

He didn't know how he did it, but he found himself in the bedroom again, a black hole in his memory that didn't allow him to remember the steps he took to get there. He still had the blanket wrapped around him, and he let himself curl into a ball on the bed.

This was probably a stupid idea.

There was howling outside, still, a scratching at the window and if he listened closely, creaking floorboards and a dripping sound from the bathroom, faint but annoyingly persistent. It blended together the more he listened, a bunch of noises that should have kept him awake, but instead, made him almost unconsciously relax, letting his body stretch out even as something somewhere in his brain panicked uncontrollably.

There wasn't any need to worry. Not yet.

_There's always pain now. It doesn't stop. But what does change is how it feels._

_Sometimes it's really sharp, like it's stabbing you over and over. You've gotten used to feeling pain in your sides, a ripping and tearing that rends you and leaves you empty. Then it patches you up and does it again._

_Sometimes it's dull thuds against you, a constant pounding that echoes throughout the halls. It's soft like feet and hands and hard like tools and rocks. It likes to split its hands against you, because it doesn't care how much it gets hurt. As long as it hurts you more._

_Sometimes, it's burning, things turning black and charred as it strikes matches, pours liquids that reek on you but only a little bit, it tells you, because it doesn't want to get out of control. It would be such a waste if everything went up in flames. Then it watches the glow as you scream._

_And sometimes it's worse than that. Sometimes it's nothing. It's emptiness and quiet and it leaves you alone for days with nothing. You don't it to be there because then it hurts you but you don't want it to be gone because then it means it's moved on. It's found something better._

_When it comes back, you cry. You still don't know the words for why you do._

He was floating and he knew he was dreaming because he was so high, held free in the air. If he was awake, he would have been terrified, but it wasn't real so he couldn't be.

Then he opened his eyes.

He hit the wall, hard, his body slamming against it in mid-air before dropping to the ground. The light from outside the window could barely be seen, early pale morning filtered through the constant white. He didn't know how long he slept.

It was so cold. His body ached all over, as if he had been repeatedly held and thrown, countless times until his mind was able to break through whatever drained his energy, waking him up to...

Adam was trying not to cry. He could do this. He could.

He couldn't. But he had to.

So he held one hand against the wall, trying to find his footing. He kept slipping, his feet unsteady, but finally he was able to make his way down the hall, keeping one hand braced against the wall. His fingers slid over its smooth surface, finding rough patches, places where things had been plastered and painted. Maybe in the dimness of the house, he thought, you couldn't see the holes.

But you could feel them.

The shower was cold now. The hot water heater had run out of water, maybe. The pipes were noisy, a loud rattling now that shook the house as the water came out.

His bruises were angry red, deep ones that covered his body. Everywhere he looked, he found one.

It's okay, he thought. I'm still alive.

The front door wouldn't open.

Neither would the back.

It was so cold now. He went to the closet in the hallway, put on the long coat. The pockets were filled with matches.

Adam let them fall into the kitchen sink, washed them with coppery red water until every last one was gone.

He opened the basement door, walked down the stairs, let his hands touch the walls to feel scorch marks, dents, all the places where someone had tried to cover up what they did, and eventually, he thought, stopped caring at all if someone saw. The further down you went, the less light there was, the more you could see.

The boxes were still in the corner and he ripped one open, his bruised, cut arms protesting all the time.

It was clothes. Sweaters, pants, a few gloves and hats. The clothing was pitted with small charred holes, brownish stains, pieces of plaster and bits of insulation.

Another box. Books, mostly, also burnt through. Adam thought he recognized a few of them, or at least what remained of the pages. Flipping through one, each page scribbled and crossed out until you couldn't tell where the original words began.

A third box. Knives. All of them gleaming. Like they had just been bought that day.

Adam got up, backed away, keeping his eyes on them.

They began rattling.

He put one foot on the stairs.

With a pop, the light bulb burst, sending the basement into darkness.

The second step.

He felt it rather than saw it, a swift burst of air next to his face and a sharp slice to his cheek before it impacted into the wall.

He ran up the rest of the stairs, slamming the door behind him.

The door shook with the impact of multiple objects embedding themselves into it.

It's okay.

I'm not scared.

Liar.

 

> Theo?
> 
> …
> 
> Theo?
> 
> …
> 
> Please. Just talk to me.
> 
> …
> 
> Give up. Just give up.
> 
> Theo?

_It's a summer night, hot and sticky, the sound of cicadas buzzing in the distance. An old woman sits on a porch swing next to a boy. He's trying to keep from falling asleep, but they both know he'll be tucked into bed within the hour._

_“Tell me another story,” he says. “One more.”_

_“You've heard all of them.” She smiles at him. “You're just trying to stay awake.”_

_“No.” He frowns, kicking his legs. “You haven't told me all of them. I want to hear about the last one.”_

_“Oh, honey.” Her eyes are sad now. “Are you sure?”_

_“Yes, grandma. I'm not a baby.”_

_“I know.”_

_She pauses._

_“You remember what I told you about old houses, how most of the time, they're not really haunted.”_

_“Yeah. Like it's always pipes or mis-hung doors or like rats.”_

_She laughs. “One good home inspection usually solves it.”_

_“And the others?”_

_“It's memories hanging on, a feeling that's imprinted itself into the house that repeats itself like a pattern. But it's just that. There's no thought to it. And once you tell people that, they do one of two things. Sometimes, they want to hang on, to let it be something they can talk about or show off.”_

_“So you just go home, right? And if they don't want them, you just get rid of them.”_

_“Right. Because in the end, it's all just shadows. Nothing behind them at all.”_

_“You've told me that.” He's yawning, impatient as only a know-it-all preteen can be._

_“So what do you do when it's something that can fight back? When it's not a dream or a memory but a thing that's very real, that's only been sleeping and something just woke it up.”_

_“I don't--” The boy stammers. “I thought you said--”_

_“Ghosts aren't real. But hauntings are. And I once met a house that had been haunted for a very long time.”_

_He's cold now, even as sweat beads on his skin. So cold._

_“No one had paid attention to it. But someone woke it up. Someone talked to it. Who knows how long it had been listening to that voice?  How long had it dreamed of it? Maybe always. When it only hears one thing, after a while, it stops being aware of anything else."_

_He's shaking. Teeth chattering._

_“It's not the dead that harm you, it's the living that do the damage. If they can think, they can hurt you. And some people, they can make sure they can hurt you for a very long time. They never leave. They whisper in the hallways, walk your floors, make sure you will always think of them. They burn themselves into your memory. You can't get rid of a shadow when the one casting it is still there."_

_This isn't right. You don't remember this._

_“You have no idea how to help a house like that. You can't. Just give up.”_

_“I won't,” the boy says, or maybe the man does. “I promised--”_

_"You can't think your dream will come true. It doesn't mean anything."_

_"No, it's--"_

_“You need to wake up, honey,” His grandma puts her hand on his neck. It's cold. “I'm sorry, but you need to. Right now.”_

He opened his eyes. 

“Oh, good,” the man said. “I was getting bored.”

There was a knife at Adam's' throat. He took a moment to focus on it, the chill against his exposed skin, the silver flashing in the little light that remained in the house. 

“Nothing to say.” The knife pressed in. “You're so talkative to your friend, but no words for me?”

Adam swallowed. “Guessing you're the former owner. Can't say I like how you treated the place.”

The man was crouched over him, messy brown hair and unkempt beard adding to the general sense of insanity radiating from his green eyes. “Well, it's mine. You don't have to like it. You don't matter.”

“Oh, I don't know,” he said. “I'm pretty sure once you die, you lose all property rights. There's a law about it or something.”

He half expected to feel the knife slicing in, but instead the man sat back on his haunches and laughed. “Oh, you are a smart kid. Smart enough to know then that you're fighting a losing battle.”

Adam managed to weakly prop himself up on his elbows. “Maybe.”

“Maybe? This is my house. I made it. Everything it is is because of me. One word from me and this house rips you apart and that nice old lady will come home to find your body parts on the front lawn.” The man gripped the knife. He was shaking.

Where Adam wasn't already numb from cold, he was hurting, but he tried to ignore it. “You really think you have that much control over it? Because I'm still alive. Plenty of chances to kill me and yet I'm breathing.”

The house shook now, glass rattling in the panes. There was creaking in the walls. 

“I've just been playing with you. But I'm getting bored. You're not doing anything fun. You should be screaming.”

“Sorry to disappoint you. I take after my grandmother. She let you down too.”

“Your grandmother?” The man frowned. “Oh, that old bag that came here. She wasn't a disappointment. Ran out terrified and never came back. A hell of a lot smarter than you.”

“Well, you're not a complete liar. She was smarter. Smart enough to know that she couldn't save you.”

“Save me?” He chuckled. “Maybe she was an idiot like you after all. I'm perfectly content with how things turned out.”

Adam closed his eyes. “You know they didn't tell me for a long time how she died.” It was colder now. His breath hung in the air with every word.

The man said nothing.

“I found out one day, looking online. Didn't take long once I hit the right site. They found her with her neck broken in a little yellow house in Nebraska, surrounded by a field of wheat. The remaining family burned it to the ground, salted the earth, but I saw the pictures of the inside before they did it and there wasn't much they could have done to it that someone else hadn't.”

“Are you expecting me to say I'm sorry? Give you condolences?” The man came closer to him. “Or were you hoping I'd make your death quick like hers?”

“Neither. I was just letting you know you weren't the first. And you won't be the last. People will always be terrible assholes.”

The laughter is pained now, as if the person laughing is spitting up blood at the same time. “And I'm sure you cared so much about that house? Tell me, how happy were you when you discovered that they burned down the house that murdered your grandmother?”

“I don't blame the house,” Adam said quietly. “I don't.”

“Bullshit.”

“And I don't think she did either.”

The man leaped upon him, knocking Adam to the ground. The knife drew red against his exposed neck. “You're a liar.”

“When she died, she left me some money in her will. My family wondered what I'd do with it, thought I might waste it, but I knew from the start what she intended. She wanted me to come back here. To try to help you out.”

“Help me out?” The knife dug deeper. “I don't need your help.”

“Yes, you do. Because you killed him a very long time ago and yet you won't let go of him.”

“Get out.”

“Can't you see?” Adam said, feeling the blood trickle down his neck. “He's not real. You're the one dreaming him.”

“Get out!”

“You need to wake up!”

The man dropped the knife. He got to his feet, let Adam stagger to his, and hold a hand to his throat.

With a rip, the front curtains fell to the floor. He could see trees, snow, the faint outline of the driveway. There was frost on the window and as Adam watched, delicate cracks began to form beneath it. The man was translucent in the moonlight.

“I told you to get out,” he said. “I don't need you.”

“I know.” Adam could feel burning at the corner of his eyes. “You don't. But you don't need him either. I may not know how to fix you. I know I can't undo whatever he did.”

The cracks spread further in the windows, a spiderweb of lines reaching out. “So you're useless.” The voice echoed now, reverberating throughout the house as if the words were spoken everywhere at once. “Just like everyone else.”

“Maybe I don't know how to help. But if killing me means a possibility of waking you from your nightmare, then I'm willing to do it.”

The front door banged open. “I'm giving you one last chance,” the voice said. “Get out.” Outside, the snow was a smooth clean canvas of white.

“It's okay,” Adam said. “I won't blame you. And I won't let anyone else.”

He closed his eyes and put his arms over his head.

There was a moment of silence, everything still and quiet in the winter night.

Then Adam heard the thundering cracking, felt the glass hit him, stinging and slicing against anything it could find. The wind followed after, a cold bite that pushed him backwards, brought him to his knees.

“I'm sorry,” he screamed over the roar.

He felt his head hit the wall, explode into pain, and then nothing--

_One day, you learn something new._

_It's laughing at you because it's just hurt you and you're wheezing, the air rushing around and it's just laughing. You want it to stop. And there's something deep in you, a part that didn't wake up, but now it is and you let it out and---_

_It hits the wall and falls to the ground. It's still laughing._

_So you do it again._

_It won't stop._

_You keep throwing it until it's broken and bleeding and it opens its mouth and says--_

_“I'm so proud of you.”_

_Then it stops and you're alone. It doesn't move again._

_It's easily moved now that you've learned how to do it. You throw it out into the dirt and leaves and things come to see it and take it away and they stay for a little bit but soon they leave--_

_And it's empty._

_But then there's more things that come. Some just want to look at you and you don't let them see anything because you know they'll leave If they don't get what they want. But then others come that want to stay and those you show things because that's what they don't want. They want everything to be asleep and you let them see all the things you've learned._

_None of them stop forever. They move and run and leave you alone. You're better at it now._

_One of them comes. It's old and tired and it moves slowly around you. It'd be so easy to get rid of it, and you think you won't have to do much. Just show it a little bit and it'll be like the rest._

_It leaves you, as you expected, and it tells you it won't be back. It knows this. But it tells you that someone else will and that it will help you if you want it too._

_Time passes and you know the old one was a liar. Nothing listens to you and everyone leaves. You tell yourself you're happier that way. Let your nightmares become the world's._

_Then one day, it's here._

_It doesn't want to stare at you, so it must be the other kind. You show it things and that doesn't scare it. You show it even more things and all it tries to do is talk to you. It must be the first one after all, you think, and you talk to it, but it doesn't want to hurt you. It doesn't want to force you to go back to sleep._

_It just wants you to wake up._

_No. It can't want that._

_So you hurt it and it doesn't get angry at you. It's not happy either. It's sad, so sad for you, and you feel it just as you feel your anger and you don't understand why it's not acting like it should. It should be running. It should be screaming._

_It should be breathing._

_And you're scared and it's not moving and you didn't mean it and maybe you want to talk to it and listen to it and--_

_You wake up_

It was comfortable underneath the red blanket. Adam could feel the heat coming from the walls, the floors, all around him, like a cocoon of warmth. Through the bedroom window, he could see outside that the snow was only lightly falling now. It was a very beautiful, and likely, insanely cold day outside.

There was still pain, but none of it was new and some of it felt much older than it should.

His phone was on the nightstand, the promise of missed calls and text messages flashing green on it. Theo, no doubt. His mom, half of them probably. Maybe even Nancy, checking up to see how it went. He'd deal with it later.

Much later.

He got up, made his way to the living room. The windows were back in the frame, but still cracked. As he watched, some of the lines disappeared, glass receding into smoothness. It would take some time.

His laptop was already open, the program up and running. Adam crouched down.

 

 

 

> Yes
> 
> I'm here.
> 
> Hello
> 
> Hello.
> 
> You're awake.
> 
> So are you.
> 
> Okay. I don't know what that means.
> 
> That's all right. You'll figure it out.
> 
> Okay.
> 
> …
> 
> Can you tell me a story?


End file.
